


The Soup Aisle

by cinderfell



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Anything Is Fair Game In Liminial Spaces, F/M, First Meetings, Grocery Stores At Two In The Morning Are Liminal Spaces, Humor, Less Of A Meet Cute And More Of A Meet Awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 18:52:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10444902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderfell/pseuds/cinderfell
Summary: In which Kashaw really doesn't like people and really,reallyjust wants a can of soup.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chylan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chylan/gifts).



> done for the prompt of kashleth + "that is one hell of a mess" from chy.

So, here’s the thing about Kashaw: he isn’t really a people person. People really, _really_ don’t like him. And that’s fine. Because he really, _really_ doesn’t like people.

(”You’re just objectively a dislikable person,” Zahra told him a few months into their friendship.

After a moment of silence, he’d simply said, “Wow, Zee.”

“You’re not arguing.”  


“…No. I’m not.”)  


So the thing about Kash not being a people person? It means he’ll go to any length to avoid having to interact with people for any longer than necessary.

And if that means going to the grocery store at two in the morning specifically to get a can of soup and some ginger ale, then so be it.

He has his ginger ale under his arm already as he walks to the aisle with his soup, frowning and freezing in place when he sees a tall woman with red hair full of flower pins standing in front of the display where his soup is. Well, great. He shifts next to her as quietly as possible, avoiding eye contact as he grabs a can from the top and praying that she doesn’t try to initiate any conversation with him.

She doesn’t, luckily, but as with everything in Kashaw’s life, it seems to come with a price.

Without seeming to think, the woman reaches for a can smack dab in the middle of the display. His mouth opens briefly as if to warn her, but it’s too late. The disastrous events have already been set in motion and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. So instead he meets her eyes, halfway between shock and a numb feeling that can best be articulated as “huh, this is happening”, as the pyramid of soup trembles under the loss of the single can, the tip toppling and rolling to the ground, unsettling the cans below and causing the entire display to fall apart. A thunderous roar fills the empty aisle of the grocery store as a wave of chicken noodle soup cans hit the floor.

The aisle falls deathly silent.

“That,” Kash says slowly, still making awkward eye contact with the weird woman, “is one hell of a mess.”  


She looks quite a bit like a deer in the path of an oncoming semi, eyes wide as her gaze flickers between him and the soup cans now scattered across the floor, then to the offending soup can still in her hand, then back up to him. Finally, she says, “Oh.”

“Oh,” he repeats.  


It’s almost endearing, he thinks, watching as what seems like five different emotions hit her at once, her face twisting up in horror as she realizes what just happened. “ _Oh_. Oh, god. Oh, shit, _oh god_.”

It’s endearing right up until the point where he realizes that he’s standing in the middle of the grocery store at two in the fucking morning with a woman who just caused an entire pyramid of soup to come crashing down, and he thinks about how he might have to talk to an employee about what the fuck just happened, and that’s just… no. Nope. No.

He drops to his knees at the same time she does, the two of them frantically picking cans up off the floor and putting them back up on the display.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she blurts out as they hurriedly rebuild the pyramid together.  


His voice comes out at a higher octave than he expects, his words rushed. “Why didn’t you take a soup from the top like a normal person?”

“I don’t know! I wasn’t thinking!”  


“Clearly!”  


“I’m sorry,” she repeats again, her voice wavering.  


He glances at her out of the corner of his eyes and, oh god, is she about to cry? She looks like she’s about to cry. He cracks. Just a little bit.

( _Goddammit._ )

“Hey, don’t… don’t worry about it,” he says lamely, and he reaches a hand out as if to put it on her shoulder comfortingly before freezing up midway. She looks over at him with wide brown eyes and she stares at his hand and, oh god, she knows what he almost did. After a stupidly long moment of just staring at each other, he slowly reaches down and picks up a can of soup off the floor and hands it to her. Their fingers brush briefly as she takes it from him, and after a moment of hesitation she smiles at him, unsure. He almost gags at the butterflies that stir in his stomach at the feeling of that smile turned on him.

( _Okay,_ he thinks as he turns back to stacking cans, _this is weird. This is so fucking weird._ )

They manage to stack the soup up again by the time an employee finds them ( _night shift,_ right?), although not beautifully or particularly evenly. The talk they get about being more careful is less pissed off and more just the utterly broken and tired reaction of an underpaid retail worker, and Kash and the woman slowly walk up to the only open register together.

He pays for her soup. She smiles at him when he does. He bites down on his bottom lip to keep himself from smiling back.

“So, uh, since we just went through a rather traumatic experience together,” she starts once they step outside into the parking lot together, the night air crisp and clear with the hint of a coming storm, “and you payed for my soup, do you think I could get your name?”  


He hesitates before he lets himself answer, then decides _fuck it_ and kicks down the part of his brain yelling at him to just leave. “Kashaw.”

She brightens, her freckled cheeks flushed pink. “Keyleth! I just live down towards the park!”

“Uh,” he says, because he doesn’t know why this woman-- Keyleth-- is telling him where she lives. “I’m up the other way. By The Slayer’s Take.”  


“Ooh,” she says. “The bar?”  


“Yeah.”  


“Well.” She reaches down into her purse and pulls out a little notepad and a pen, opening it up and scribbling something down before tearing it out and handing it to him. “Here.”  


He looks down at it and-- oh, hell, that sure is a phone number alright.

“Uh,” he says again.  


“For, like, if you ever want to talk or something.” Her smile softens into an unsure line. “If you want. I mean, not to overstep your boundaries or anything. Am I overstepping boundaries? My friend Vex always tells me I’m bad at reading people and she’s really not wrong at all, so if I just overstepped or something--”  


He cuts her off before she spirals any further. “You didn’t overstep, it’s fine.” He folds the scrap of paper and tucks it in his jacket pocket.

“Oh!” she says, and her eyes brighten up with delight. “Well, good.”  


And then they stare at each other. For a good ten seconds. In total silence. He coughs and she blinks rapidly before clearing her throat and brushing her hair back behind her ear.

“Well,” she says again, her face even redder than before. “Good night!”  


And then she just…

Walks off.

He watches her go, completely dumbfounded with a pretty and weird woman’s phone number in his pocket. A pretty weird woman. A weirdly pretty woman. A… fuck. _Fuck._

He has zero idea what the fuck just happened, he has zero idea why this just happened, he has zero idea why he had a dumb reaction to this pretty redhead. He just knows one thing:

Zahra is going to laugh herself into a coma when she hears this shit.


End file.
